


So he would

by TheRumpledBook



Category: Treasure Planet (2002)
Genre: Disney References, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Implied One-sided Jim/OMC, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Sex Slavery, Implied/Referenced Slavery, Indentured Servitude, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Underage Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Fandoms Not Mentioned in Tags, Possessive Behavior, Prosthetics, Referenced soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRumpledBook/pseuds/TheRumpledBook
Summary: Jim acts like just being around Silver is the best thing to happen to him, so Silver makes sure it is.
Relationships: Jim Hawkins/Long John Silver, Jim Hawkins/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 55





	1. But oh how he wanted…

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IFuckingLoveBees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IFuckingLoveBees/gifts).



> Blaming this entirely on IFuckingLoveBees for dropping this plot bunny directly into my head. This is my first fic over here and the first one I've felt motivated to try and finish in years.I'm posting what I have so far to motivate me to finish it. This will be mostly drabbles and snippets of the overall story. Mentions of off-screen sex slavery, drug use, some general pirate bad stuff, and I may adjust this later.
> 
> Also, anyone who can educate me on what Naval ranks in the 1700s would apply to Jim, please tell me because despite my research I've only a vague idea and any titles used are probably not going to make sense.

Jim loved him like a father. He would have to be sick to act on it. 

He wouldn’t pretend to be moral; Murder, treason, theft, and a dozen other stupid choices had marched through his life without much consideration. He’d fucked his way through most space ports and he’d never had qualms about it. Maybe this one seemed a bit young, but he made sure they had a good time and good money. Maybe that one didn’t look like they were thrilled to be selling themselves but that was life, and he wasn’t the one making them do it. No one trusted him, and he never left a bad impression. 

But with Jim? Well. The boy needed a father figure. Had trusted Silver to be there for him. Had forgiven him – more or less – and let him go free. Had looked at him with warmth and love. He’d shown Silver his broken heart and done it again when there was no reason to believe it’d go any better for him. 

So Jimbo wanted a father. Silver could be that. He could admire the boy’s face, his figure, his blazing heart, and feed it with kindness. He could teach the pup a few tricks and save his life and feel no worse for it. He could sail off into the Etherium without looking back and know he was slotted solidly next to Leland Hawkins in Jim’s mind – though perhaps his pedestal might stand a little taller than the man who had left his family  _ without _ the threat of a noose. 

But Silver was not a moral man. He was not a good man – couldn’t be one. Not in his lifetime. Not in his world. So he didn’t try. 

He never touched the boy who loved him. Refused to take advantage. The idea of adding one more sin to his roster didn’t scare him, but the wreck he would make of Jim’s life? That was more than he’d be able to handle. 

But oh how he wanted…

*

Silver stayed far off from the space ports for a good three years before sliding into Montressor. He’d left his leg in a shop and was marching ‘round the docks on an old peg, slid a patch over his eye, and kept his coat over his arm rig. With a grown-out beard and a wide flat hat, he stooped as he went and felt the eyes of the crowds slide right over him. He looked no more like the Great Long John Silver than Dr Doppler might. 

By midday he’d made it to a smaller café away from the docks. His leg stump burned, but he was able to find a boy hocking papers, and he settled in with some soup and grog to read. 

He knew exactly what he’d open the pages to – he’d heard the news, there was a  _ reason _ to be here – but it still sent a clench through his chest. 

_ Jim Hawkins – Hero of Valkala!  _

_ Three dozen pleasure slaves were saved from Neronian smugglers this past weekend. The criminal enterprise was infiltrated by one Second Mate James Pleiades Hawkins before being undone by… _

Silver tried to make himself read the whole article, but his eyes kept fixating on the pictures. One was small – an academy graduation photo, or his official navy profile picture. The lad’s shoulders had broadened out, his hair shaved closer than ever, though certainly shaggier than Silver had seen on most. Silver’s face tugged with a small smile _. Little bit of rebellion there, eh Jimbo? _ The next picture looked like someone had snapped it just after the fight – there was Jim, pistol in one hand and cutlass in the other, feet perfectly balanced on the main boom. His face was dirty and there was blood on his uniform, but he stood tall against the wind and looked, if not relaxed, at least comfortable, his guard half down as he looked ahead. This picture was more recent – Jim’s coat had vanished and the beautiful V of his shoulders and chest were broader than most humans. His whole body seemed to glow in the starlight, haloed like a hero from a book.

It was enough to twist in his heart and gut, and Silver made himself look at the last photo. 

_ Mr. Hawkins received the Naval Cross at a celebration hosted by Admiral Velkus …  _ Silver felt his eyes glaze at the frilly words but snapped back to it when –  _ Mister Hawkins was quite the favorite of her Ladyship, whose daughter Carina was one of the rescued slaves.  _

The picture was simple, normal even, but Silver felt the pages wrinkle in his hands as he gripped tight. There was Jim again – his dress uniform pressed and sharp, a fistful of ribbons and medals already pinned in place, even as the other man fastened the cross. Jim’s face looked tight and tired, but there was good cheer in his eyes. A young woman stood close behind him, her expression of longing and hope fixed on the back of Jim’s head. She was dressed like a princess, and the older woman next to her was looking at Jim with a sharp but approving eye. 

Silver pounded the last of his drink and pushed away the soup, stumbling out of the café. He reminded himself that his food was better, that he didn’t need to be here. He thought about tossing the paper away, but sighed and stuffed it into his coat instead. 

Lady Carina was beautiful. Jim was beautiful. The girl came from money. Jim was a decorated hero on the rise. 

Silver reached for a flask of the hard stuff and tried not to imagine their wedding. 

*

Six months later, and Jim Hawkins’ name was in his paper. Again.

_ Lady Carina was married to Lt. Marduk today, in a small ceremony presided over by the Bishop of Vildergalt. Her Ladyship was given away by the couple’s dear friend Second Mate Hawkins of the RLS Valkerie, hero of Valkala, who is accredited with their introduction and courtship.  _

Jim looked handsome as ever, standing at the Lieutenant’s side and grinning as the couple said their vows. 

The wedding looked lovely, and Silver tried to ignore how something tight and angry loosened in his chest. 


	2. The Ursid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, blaming so much on IFuckingLoveBees because wow, you inspired an asexual to write smut, I kinda hate you.

News that Jim’s ship was coming in reached him, and the following day Silver found himself at the docks, watching in the shade with a bottle of rum as the ship anchored and the sailors departed. The crew were rowdy and loud, chaotic with youth and thrill at being allowed to stretch their legs. A sharp eye had no trouble spotting a handsome face in among them, and it was even easier to follow at a distance, unseen and unnoticed in the crowd. The group approached the red-light district, and Silver wasn’t the least bit surprised. 

He knew it was wrong. He knew it was stupid. He wanted to be sick with himself. 

Jim thought of him as a father figure. Good. That’s how it should be. That’s how he wanted Jim to remember him. 

But still,  _ he _ didn’t have to think of Jim that way. He didn’t have to imagine the smile of the boy as the smile of a son. 

He could think of Jim in…other ways. And so long as he kept it to himself? Kept away? Left his memory untarnished with Jim?

Why, who was he hurting but himself? 

So, when the lads found their way to the red-light inns, the workers lined up and ready, Silver was right behind them. Standing in the shadows outside, there were men of species even bigger than him, rendering him near invisible, and he was able to take a moment to do a quick count at the windows. 

Four levels to the inn. One hallway between the rooms on each floor, and all the windows had a light on when in use. A few quick calculations, and he was reasonably confident he could guess which ones would be occupied tonight. He didn’t look through the door to see the whores’ lineup. Didn’t stay to watch who Jim might have to choose from, who he’d take to bed. He turned around and slid into the dark, crossing the road to the house direct across, and paid for a room without the company. His window was too far from the other building for someone to see much detail, but his right eye whirred in his head with more power than a human’s might. 

He sat at the window and watched. Waited. 

He didn’t have to wait long. 

Jim came into the room right in line with his balcony, but one floor below, keeping half the room at an angle out of sight. 

A light came on in the window and then... Jim was in there, getting undressed. 

Silver lit his pipe for something to do with his hands. 

This was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to see this much. But—

The coat peeled off. Then the dress shirt, then…

Silver felt something in him seizing, and his eye started to whine with how hard his brain was making it work to look closer. 

There were piercings. Silver bars through his nipples and navel that caught in the light of the room. They glittered a bit with the movement, and Silver wondered if there were gems on the metal, or if they were plain? If they were new? When did he get them? Why? 

A thought flashed and Silver felt his teeth dig into the pipe. 

The slavers had been  _ infiltrated _ , but the paper had never said what role Jim had played. The picture after the fight, it hadn’t said when it was taken, or who they were fighting there, did it? 

Before he could think about that – decide what he felt – Jim was shucking off his pants and tossing them aside, then pulling away his shorts. 

Just a quick look, the movement was too fast to see it all, but Silver thought… no. He was  _ sure _ he’d seen more metal. 

He didn’t know which he wanted more in that instant – to find the slavers who’d put that metal on Jim and make them weep with pain? Or to reach down and take out each piece, lick their slots in the flesh, and replace them, one by one, with new pieces. Something he’d give Jim. Something in gold that would show anyone who saw just how valuable that skin was. Silver toyed with his earing and tried not to imagine how Jim might look as he fastened it in place on his chest. Left side or right side? Which would Jim want?

Of course, then Jim was gone. He stepped further into the room, and Silver cursed. His eye could make out most things, but the farther away, the less effective, and his night vision only did so much. Still, he could see…enough. 

He could tell Jim’s company was bipedal, though not if there were extra limbs. He could see the hazy outline – was Jim the bigger one or the smaller one? There were no features he could make out at this distance. He tried switching to infrared but with how close the bodies were, he couldn’t make out anything but a mash of heat and movement. 

Silver let his eyes relax and close, reaching up to fiddle with the metal over his lost ear. A few twists, and he was inundated with more sound than was natural, causing a wince. Even though his hearing was better than a human, Ursids were known for their sensitive noses more than their ears, and his hearing module was too old to filter very well. It brought in every single sound in the neighborhood – the moans of the rooms around his, the shouts of those across the way, the voices in the street. The chaotic way it all clashed in his head was the reason he hated tuning this thing, but if he could focus…

A bit of twisting in his seat, turning his head this way and that for a better angle.

He almost didn’t notice it, but a little hiccoughing moan made his spine straighten. He knew that voice. He _ knew _ he knew that voice. 

_ “Ha…ah…oh-uh…ha!” _

Silver settled back in his chair and tried not to think about  _ what _ he was hearing, relaxing his teeth around the pipe and drawing back to blow rings. If he was blowing them in the direction of Jim’s room? Framing the window with an imaginary caress? Well, who would know that but him?

He didn’t let himself take much note of the whore’s voice, but he couldn’t help picking things out. Male, definitely. He whispered (probably into Jim’s ear) but while it was too soft for Silver to make out, it was clearly deeper than Jim’s. 

Jim’s voice had changed. Not much. Not enough that he couldn’t tell it was him, but that was fine. Jim’s voice –  _ “Oh, god…fuck!” _ – was only a little deeper than in his memories, which suited his broader shoulders. There was a bit of husk to it though, and Silver wondered if that was just from sex, or if he might sound like that all the time. It sounded like certain kinds of pipe weed smelled, and the next pull of smoke made Silver’s mouth water with the thought. 

Did Jim sound like that – soft and warm and rich – when he was talking to his pet socialites? When he was charming his way through the brass? Did he pick it up from shouting over the canons, roughing up his throat? From smoking with his crew? 

Silver wanted to know. He wanted to know all of it. 

The moans were picking up, and the pirate tilted his head back a bit, just listening, not touching anything but the pipe, not focused on anything in particular ( _ he lied to himself too much) _ . A sharp bark,  _ “Ha-ah!”  _ marked the end and then there were just slow, stuttering gasps, a little sob that sounded torn out of Jim’s very heart, and Silver licked his lips and ached. 

_ Good for yeh Jimbo, _ he told himself.  _ Sounds like you got your money’s worth. A nice treat fer yeh before yer next adventure.  _

The whore hadn’t sounded rough or mean, had clearly done his job, and Jim had sighed just there, a sound of contentment. Silver could leave. He could nod to himself that he’d got his fix and be away. There’d be no trace of him, and though he’d caught a glimpse of the lad, he hadn’t really seen anything. It was good that way. He could count half a sin off his tally, maybe a whole, since he hadn’t touched himself. 

But then there was a shuffling noise, someone moving up and around, and Jim was at the window again. 

Silver couldn’t have moved if the planet had been blowing up around him. 

The man in the window –  _ not a boy, definitely not with those shoulders – _ was naked. His muscles had a strong definition, the shadow of each crease and line stark in the moonlight. The warmth of the window light backlit him, highlighting the tan on his neck. 

_ Must be dehydrated, looking so sharp as that _ Silver thought, even as he chewed his cheek.  _ Needs feedin’ up too, no paddin’ at all.  _

He almost wanted to laugh at himself – here was Jim, lit up like an angel, naked and  _ pierced _ and strong and so, so beautiful, but all Silver could do was focus on nonsense. 

Well, maybe not nonsense. 

_ No one taken care of yeh, Jimbo? No one lookin’ at yeh, thinkin’ a how soft and sweet yeh’d look with some feedin’? No one tryin’ to make yeh smile with a good dinner, bringin’ yeh water in the hot days?  _

Silver was a cook for a reason; Ursids loved their food. Loved to see their children fat, to feed people, loved to squeeze and nibble and bite at the softest parts of their mates. They weren’t known for staying long—their women tended to kick their men out once they were pupped and pregnant, but no Ursid worth their salt would let a lover look so… _ sharp _ . So hard. He wondered if it was a human thing. Did the ladies like how intense his cheekbones looked from the right angle? How every dip and crevice of his muscles could be traced? How he looked like he’d been cut from something cold and unyielding?

The whore came up behind Jim, and Silver let his eye strain again to zoom. He couldn’t see enough – the window had frilly curtains, and the face was too tall, but Jim was clearly smaller than his bedmate. A good chunk smaller. Small enough that when a hand slid up over Jim’s stomach, it covered him – palm to fingertips spanned the whole thing. Jim relaxed a bit under the grip, leaning back into the chest behind him and looking into the stranger’s face. The head bent down to the exposed neck and—

Silver felt himself clench his teeth so hard he tasted blood, something clicking in his jaw. 

Ursid. The whore Jim paid to fuck him was an Ursid. 


	3. The Falcon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudo points to any Temeraire fans who notice a couple things.

Jim leaves the Navy the next year. It causes quite a ripple in the papers, but as fast as he’s left the Navy Jim’s signed up for an expedition. 

Apparently Dr. Doppler has finally figured out how to track rogue black holes, and even how to predict their course. It’s an amazing discovery – most spacers don’t realize they’ve gotten too close to a Rogue until it’s too late, and the smaller ones are most deadly for their ability to be missed. Jim’s on a ship that’s supposed to test Doppler’s new gizmo, and map out as many Rogues as possible. He’s the navigator, because apparently the tech is too complicated for most experienced men to follow, but he’s not the only one on the crew looking to test new ideas. The pages talk about how Jim’s being paid to use a new type of surfer – one that uses gravity based rockets along with the usual solar sails. 

Silver doesn’t pretend to fully understand how the thing’s supposed to work, but the gist is easy to follow: Jim and the crew are dropping buoys at the edge of Rogue event horizons, tracking the old fashioned way to make sure Doppler’s new tech works like it says, and that means you’ve got to get close. 

Most spacers only take on a job like that if they’re close to death themselves, because chances of being pulled in are seven to three against you. The pay’s enormous, but only desperate men do this sort of work. Well, desperate men, or crazy ones. 

But this new surfer’s supposed to use the gravity around the black hole to boost its own rockets, make it possible to get closer and up your odds of getting out. Traditionally, you’ve got to get the entire ship close as possible to drop a buoy in the right place, with some loon dangling at the end of a single, impossibly long lifeline to do it. Even assuming your spacer’s not crushed getting in there, the chances are good of seeing the ship get too close and get sucked in. 

The Navy’ll have these standard on all their flagships in just a few years. Jim’s going down in history for this.  _ If  _ it works. 

_ Makings of greatness. Truer words Jimbo. Truer words. _

The stories that came from the  _ HHS Falcon _ seemed more ludicrous with each telling, funneled from port to port on gossip mills until the rumormongers would have you believe Jim was fighting off swarms of Dibreckian Murder Hornets with one hand tied behind him, charming a harem of man-eating mermaids into elopement, and being named king of half a dozen grateful planets he’d saved from imminent death. Similar wild rumors had risen around the tales of Treasure Planet, so Silver was confident near half or more was utter shite. Still, all stories held a grain of truth in them, and he decided to look in on it. Most of the legitimate news seemed to be coming in from correspondence between Doppler and his personal scribe. A Mister Robinson Sipho, the man was meant to be reporting back the data of Doppler’s device, but had been taking the opportunities that brought them to port to pass his own personal logs to a paper, published as a serial adventure “for posterity” by his words.

It took a few weeks to track down all the articles, but Silver was impressed – he’d always been a fan of a good story, what spacer wasn’t? But most of the time he found it hard to focus on written stories, their words too dull and prissy to let him fully immerse himself. He preferred his stories spoken aloud, but Mister Sipho had a style he wasn’t expecting, formal but still with enough energy to keep the attention. It was no wonder his stories had reached so far—the Falcon’s voyage was historic, and Jim was famous, aye, but it wasn’t the sort of tale high society fussed over. Mister Sipho seemed to have changed that, and Silver grimaced as often as he smiled over the stories.

_...As it stands, Mister Hawkins has assured us that his acquaintance with Princess Ariel will keep her sisters at bay, and we need not fear for our flesh. However, no man other than him seems to feel inclined to take the risk, and the mermaids have found amusement in swarming Mister Hawkin’s long boat whenever he leaves the ship. Though he has declined to speak of it in detail, we have all noticed that they have developed a rather terrifying game of “nip and run” with our dear hero, and more often than not he returns to us with more than a few bitemarks on his person, though their fondness of pelting him with rare pearls seem to make up for it. Princess Ariel has taken to following alongside the ship whenever Mister Hawkins comes on deck, and seems to delight in probing him with questions about every splinter and string on the entire ship. Though rather irritating, the crew have been wary of asking him to quiet her chatter, for she is often covered in blood from meals, and bares her teeth freely at anyone aside from her friend. Her persistent inquiries into a future marriage between them lead me to believe that her preferences may run towards the romantic as much as the friendly, but Mister Hawkins has caused no ill will between them as he continues to decline. _

Silver didn’t know if he should laugh or cry.


	4. A fear of rocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I didn't mean to, but hey look, some slight Disney cross over, I should probably tag that.

Silver laughs when Sipho’s next story has a picture. It’s really just a sketch, but it’s a damned good one, and it makes him smile. Most of Jim’s stories get caught up in his dashing figure and how heroic he looks standing tall on deck. But Amelia sent him to the academy as much for his brains as for his guts, and the navy’s known for years his best features are his quick feet and faster mind. Mister Sipho seems to admire such things, or at least be as exasperated by them as the rest of the galaxy.

The sketch has Jim up to his elbows in grease and bits of fiddly machine innards that look sharp and expensive to Silver’s unfamiliar eye. The lad’s grown out his hair into something shaggy (and dirty, if you believe the artist). He’s got a bit of shadow on his jaw and a start of a goatee crawling up his chin, his earing back in place after the Navy made him take it out. He looks rough, scruffy in a charming way, and the picture has him arguing with a bean pole of a man who’s spectacles look bigger and thicker than some spy glasses.

_ Our hero Mister Hawkins has incited some tension in the more academic members of our crew, as his unilateral decision to dismantle Doctor Doppler’s device for a refit has left the voyage quite literally adrift. We have been forced to anchor off the Mariana lagoon, and though I see value in the need to maintain our equipment, even I find myself wishing he’d chosen somewhere else to stall our ship; the looming solar storms of the season promise to be quite unpleasant if we are still here when they arrive. His colleague, renowned linguist and an ancient cartography expert, Professor Milo Thatch, has complained rather loudly about this decision. The refit was started at midnight last night while the rest of the crew slept, and has been declared, “Sneaky and stupid,” to quote one man. Professor Milo tells me that there is some doubt as to Hawkins’ ability to reassemble the machine, as it’s technology is partially based on “haphazard doodles scribbled on a napkin while Doppler was in a frenzy of caffeine and adrenaline.” I will admit that I myself cannot make heads or tales of the mechanics, but as the voyage hinges rather heavily on Hawkins’ success, I have decided to leave it in his hands. Professor Thatch has been banished to his room to work on translations of Atlantian runes to avoid stirring up the rest of the crew with his ire, and we fervently hope Hawkins will have us on our way within the week. _

Silver could fall from his chair with laughter, and he wonders if Jim would be better or worse on a ship of pirates. The crew might still gut the lad for this, but at least pirates wouldn't pretend to be polite about it.

* 

It's worrying how long it takes news of the Falcon to reach him, but if Sipho is to be believed, it’s not without reason. The installment takes up most of the paper, and people have been caught yelling at the children who hawk them, because the kiddos are sold out as fast as they can cut the twine on the bundles.

Apparently, Treasure Planet isn’t the only place that was a myth, and whatever shite reputation Milo Thatch had before, he’s got a long and fanciful future as the new King of Atlantis. The story seems pulled right from Silver’s own life, with a mutiny of pirates after a mythic treasure to boot! He groaned when he read it, and he wants to throttle Doppler—where in blazes is the man getting these folks? Half the crew turned out to be in on this mess! What’s he been doing—putting up signs about treasure hunting and hiring the first hands to show?

Sipho claims that the ring leader, Roark, was the most savage of the lot, but his assurances that the rest of the crew had a change of heart made him gnash his teeth in frustration, especially when Sipho won’t give names but feels free to share stories of the mercenaries violence. Jim and the rest of the crew were beaten, locked up, and left for dead, but there’s not a single finger pointing at the perpetrators. Only the knowledge that Amelia was likely to hunt them all down for him kept Silver still.

On the upside, Jim’s becoming more well connected by the day, and it sounds like Milo’s going to be a man of influence. Maybe if Jim is bound determined to get into trouble like this Silver will have an ally to help him tie the lad down for a rare moment of peace. If there is any peace to be had in Atlantis—the water planet is supposed to be controlled by some kind of sentient crystal, and as he reads on it just makes him worry; Seems that the damned rock has a bad habit of kidnapping and possessing its royalty, then turning its moons into lasers and tossing lava at people who irritate it.

Though it might be under control now, as Thatch is being praised for his success in coaxing Princess Kida into unfusing from the thing. Sounds more like Thatch was too love struck by a pretty face to run when he had the chance, but the result seems to be happy. Still, the man’s tricked a thousand-year-old warrior into marrying him, and she’s got nothing but praise for Jim’s—he’s leaving the planet with some kind of magic rocks that keep his pistols from needing a reload, and they’re showering him in honors and treasure, so Thatch might be smarter than he looks.

For the sake of Silver’s unending stress, Jim better be sleeping with a loaded pistol under his pillow and one eye open.


	5. At the docks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay these chapters are more like chronological drabbles for what I imagine would be a plausible, workable relationship between these two, and because my imagination can't sit still, there's definitely some gaps. I might go back and change a few things later on, or include more adventures on the Falcon, but I doubt it.   
> There will be smut in the next chapter once I stop blushing, and you can and should blame IFuckingLoveBees for every bit of it.

Three nights before her forty-fifth birthday, Sarah Hawkins goes to bed with a headache and never wakes, found cold and stiff next to her lover. Amelia sends word to Jim and when he reads the news, something tight and rough deflates in his chest. 

He’s been jumping from project to project for months--visiting Milo and Kida retrofit crystals into updated tech, helping the gravity board designers make tweaks on the design for the Navy, on and on and on. It dawns on him as he’s trying to find a ride home that he hasn’t seen his mother face to face in over a year.

Well...there’s that. 

It only takes him a couple weeks to wrap things up on Montressor, and since the Dopplers insist he needs to spend it with them, he allows himself to be hustled into distraction with the kids. Morph has been a wonderful family pet to them, but he’s too old to do much, spending his time sleeping in a bowl that’s kept far from the kitchen so no one will mistake him for soup. Still, he’s got just enough oomph to crawl over the lip of his container and slide into Jim’s hand with a purr, his colors flickering and surface shifting, and it warms his chest to see the little blob so pleased. Delbert’s pup -- Dylan -- chatters as fast as his mouth will let him, and he usually carries Morph’s bowl with him like a slightly messy comfort toy. The kid latches onto Jim at once and he finds himself being pestered with so many questions he loses track of the hours. It’s nice, and he’s grateful for the chance to avoid thinking about Sarah for too long. 

By the end of the month, Jim’s sold the Benbow to a lass Amelia knows, his life still in a bag on his shoulder like any good spacer knows to do. He leaves a few knickknacks with the Dopplers, makes sure they know he knows he’s always welcome in their home, then goes into town. He meets a man at the edge-- Bartholomew, the fishmonger who’s slept next to Sarah these past years--and the two go down to the graveyard. 

He likes Bart; he’d showered Sarah with affection that bordered on reverence, and he’d treated Jim with easy respect. It was him that handled the sale of the inn, and he’d staunchly declined any offer to take a cut of the profits. The Dopplers have promised to look in on him now and then--they’re calling him over for dinner every two weeks or so, and Jim’s seen to it that the plot next to Sarah’s is to be reserved for Bart if he likes. 

They don’t chat, just lay flowers over the grave, share a swig of some of Bart’s better wine, wish each other well and part ways. 

Silver finds him at the docks. 

*

Jim acts like just being around Silver is the best thing to happen to him, so Silver makes sure it is. He feeds the boy the very best of his recipes, and there’s always something sweet tucked away for the lad in his pocket. He’s sly, careful, so the crew doesn’t see him slip a spare bit of honeycomb in paper into Jim’s coat, and he’s the cook – he gets to spice his own food as he likes – so no one notices that he’s putting the same stuff on a plate enough for two sometimes, and a few stolen moments in the dark of the galley means he can feed up his boy from that plate.  _ The best of things for the best of men _ . He whispers these words to Jim in the corners, pressing a pair of gold bars into his hand, helping Jim put them on later in a locked closet when they can spare the time. 

Jim wears gold under his clothes, and a silver bauble in his ear; the drop of amber hanging on it shines like a cybernetic eye. 

_ My very best, for the best.  _

Jim shows his love with more actions, more enthusiasm – he hunts down opportunities to profit like a Moravian Gem Hound and brings his plans to Silver with hopeful eyes. He’s careful to defer to the older man when he knows the higherups are looking, giving credit where he can and highlighting the old spacer’s skills like he’s showing Silver off. Polishes his earring ‘til it glows and preens when others remark on it. Waits for Silver’s cue to act, but lets the others know he’s Silver’s with pride once he’s got permission. 

In one battle, Silver’s hat and coat are set alight, and though he shrugs them off and keeps fighting without a pause, he lets Jim hear him bemoan the loss later to the crew. 

“’Twer me uncle’s old things, they was. Been in the family ‘fer years! Argh, would’a ‘taught it’d be me burial shroud when ey went, but poof, gone in a breeze, ‘in’it?” 

Their next shore leave, Jim corners him in an alley far from the docks and pushes a bundle on him. They’re careful in this crew – Jim keeps to his own bunk and Silver doesn’t let his eyes linger. They’d left the boat separately, but he didn’t expect Jim to have found him so soon. 

“It’s not a replacement, but the course takes us where it’ll be cold. You can’t run around without it.” Never mind that Jim’s a man nearer thirty than twenty, he’s still standing before Silver with his shoulders bent, like a child expecting a scolding. 

Silver opens the cloth, and he lets himself smile. A tricorn, of course, wider than his last for proper shade. The blue is so dark it’s nearly black, same color as the waxed canvas of the coat. It’s a long thing— broader in the shoulders and better fitting than his old piece, and though they’re older and tarnished, the fastenings are clearly silver. It’s a fine garment – practical and plain of frills, but cut well and better quality than most men bother with. He doesn’t try to refuse it, just swings the coat on and puts on the hat. The material is light, but the wax worked into it makes it smell rich and he knows it’ll be more weatherproof than not. 

“A fine few tings ye got meh lad. Oy luv ‘em.” He takes Jim’s face in his metal hand and drops a chaste kiss to his lips, and when he pulls back Jim looks near high with how broad his grin stretches. 

They go back to the boat separately, but when the crew remarks at his new clothes, he lets himself swagger a bit, seeing Jim’s ill-hidden grin across the deck. 


	6. Never again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm going to go hide under a rock and die of embarrassment because I've never really written smut before this story, so I'm not sure if this works but Bee's been very kind to help me figure it out and hopefully it's still sweet? There will be a bit more fun times down the road, but that's not the main focus, so it might just be a coda or a side story.  
> Also, I'm really leaning heavily into a more phonetic take of Silver's accent, so sorry if that seems confusing but it seemed the most authentic to his character.  
> Thank you for reading, please be kind!

Jim tells him it’s his first time. It’s a lie that Silver decides he will make real. 

_“Ever been fucked before Jimbo?” He asks this as he lies on top of the other spacer, his full weight pinning him into the mattress. He inhales the smell of Jim’s hair, memorizing it and tucking it away in his heart – right next to the image of Flint’s Trove. Jim isn’t talking, just writhing underneath him, panting as the smell of his lust spikes the air of the room. Silver pulls his weight back a bit, and Jim sucks in a deep breath, mewling and crying as the cyborg grinds into his backside._

_“Well?” He reaches down and trails his nails over the broad back (still small in his arms), watching the shiver run through Jim’s spine before circling his boy’s throat. He grips carefully, not stopping the airflow but not letting him go, and drags the human up and against him, his gut causing an arch in Jim’s back. Silver maneuvers them until Jim’s got his hands on the headboard, shaking with the weight of the Ursid covering him, but not complaining, not trying to adjust or dislodge the heavier man. Silver rewards him and grips his boy’s balls, squeezing for pleasure and denial. “You ever been fucked, boy’o? Bent over for someone else and—” his hips jerk forward “_ taken _it, like a good boy?” He’s expecting something whitty, something playful and dirty. He’s expecting Jim to whisper, “Been fucked plenty, old man. Think you can make this memorable?” But that’s not what Jim says._

_“Never,” Jim gasps, and Silver stalls, thrown. Instead of taunting him like he’d expected Jim pushes back into Silver, hips rocking. “Never been with anyone, only you, just you, just for you…” and his voice is soft, sweet, like a warm whisky as he confesses._

_Silver hears his boy’s words and feels a growl rip out of him, sinking his teeth into Jim’s shoulder and pulling at his cock, shuddering into his boy’s back as Jim wails._

_He knows it’s a lie, but Jim doesn’t know he knows. He’s playing like this is something monumental, like it’s something he has that he wants to give to Silver, and of course, the pirate knows why._

_Jim didn’t know Silver wanted him. Didn’t know Silver had a vested interest in what became of his old cabin boy, that he’d be back, that he’d have any reason to_ appreciate _the man he’d become._

_If he’d known, Jim would have waited. Would have made sure the first hands here were half flesh, half machine. He would have given this to Silver, if he’d known._

_It’s the thought that counts, and Silver is a thoughtful lover._

_He pulls his teeth out of the muscle, blood and spit sliding over Jim’s shoulder, and he should feel bad about that. It’ll need cleaning, and it’ll hurt like hell tomorrow. But he licks the mark, tracing his teeth up from shoulder to neck to just behind Jim’s ear. “Damn right pup,” he snarls, and there’s a shiver, a moan. “Damn right this is for me. This is mine. ‘Course it is!” He snaps his jaw, all the force of his bite coming down on air with a sharp noise, then hisses between the teeth, “Mark my words, you’ll know things you couldn’t dream of before dawn.” He snaps again, letting some of the aggression he feels out with the taunting bite. He knows Jim likes it. He can feel in his hand how much the threat, the power Silver’s got in him, how it makes Jim feel. He licks and sucks and barely holds back the urge to do more damage to Jim’s neck, pulling him back so his boy’s ass is tucked right up against the Ursid’s cock. He pins the boy down again and_ growls _, a deep rumble that he knows the other rooms can feel in the floor. Jim’s crying now, wriggling and rubbing against the sheets, the grip of Silver’s hand, anything. Silver flips him over and leans down, takes the entire mast into his mouth and purrs._

_Jim comes with a scream._

_Silver sucks a bit longer, gentler, but no slower, until Jim pushes at him. He wonders what it would be like to wring more out of him, to suck and pull out every last drop again and again until his boy blacked out. But Silver’s supposed to think he’s the first, that he should be kind to his lover, and he lets go with a kiss before sliding up and settling half his weight over the lax body. Jim looks at him like he’s made of starlight, like Silver’s gold plated, like he has a treasure map tattooed to his face._

_He realizes that the metal is gone from Jim’s cock. Playing calm, he reaches up and tugs a bit at one of the bars in Jim’s chest._

_“What’s all this?” He brings his nails lower, circling his belly button and Jim shudders, still glassy eyed. “Bit advanced for a virgin Jimbo.”_

_It’s the wrong thing to say, because the bliss wipes away from Jim’s face. He props himself up to look into Silver’s eyes. “It’s not like that.”_

_Silver lets a smile pull at his lips. “’S alright to say it Jimbo. Yer a handsome lad in his prime. I know I’m not yer first.” He’s waiting for Jim to deflate, to accept Silver’s out and tell the truth._

_But Jim shakes his head. “I was infiltrating the slavers. I put them on so I’d look like I belonged there. Even had one in my dick for a while. I was trying to blend in and … I mean, I had to suck a few guys off here and there, but Marduk – my friend – pretended he was my owner.” His voice is higher, fast and breathy, like he’s scared, like he’s desperate for Silver to hear what he’s saying and believe it. “We played it off like he was too possessive to share me. He got a tattoo so we’d both look authentic. I think he didn’t want me to feel like I was taking all the risk.” He looks at Silver, pleading as he cups his hands around the Cyborg’s face. “You’re my first,” he whispers, pressing a soft, dry kiss to his lips. Silver’s not smiling, but he’s not sure what to do. Jim nuzzles his lips. “M’first. Only one.”_

Only one that _counts_. Silver knew that’s what Jim was thinking. What he was telling himself. What he wanted Silver to have. 

Jim wanted Silver to believe it, like Silver wanted him to believe he was a better man. 

So he would. 

*

There were nights where they didn’t have sex. It was rare, but age was real, and Silver was practical. Jim took it in stride—gave himself some satisfaction with Silver’s arms around him, smiled, happy as ever, and fell asleep. On nights like that, the Ursid didn’t sleep for hours. He laid awake in the dark of their bunk, his cybernetic eye whirring and clicking as it snapped picture after picture, memorized better than Silver’s natural brain could manage. He’d wrap his metal arm around Jim, let the sleepy man nuzzle the mechanical fingers, and spend hours letting his flesh hand trace. A claw tip would run up Jim’s jawline, sometimes smooth, sometimes bearded, then down his neck, over a shoulder, along the edge of his hairline, back up over an ear, and just…trace. For hours he let himself indulge in this—the tender moments where he wasn’t a cutthroat outlaw, but just a simple man. A man with a beautiful, shining, legendary lover. A man who had a treasure better than anything Flint might have dreamed of. 

Jim loved him – he knew that. He wasn’t a fool who told himself it was impossible, that Jim was too good for him, that he would never be able to want someone like Long John Silver. No, Jim _loved_ him. Honest and truly loved him. There was no mistake to be had there. He didn’t understand it, but he knew it, same way he’d known in his bones when Billy showed him that map, Treasure Planet was _real_. 

So Jim loved him. Because he was amazing, and near perfect, and _good_ , and that’s what the good people did, isn’t it? Found something to love in all the worst people. 

And he was the worst sort of person, because he wasn’t going to let it go. Jim _chose him_ , and that was it. He was done. _Take what you can, give nothing back._ A pirate knows not to let the good things go. 

*

They aren’t always together, and they’re not always sailing. 

Silver doesn’t pretend to like it, but he knows Jim well, and if he were to fight to have the man wait behind, it would only leave ill feelings between them. Jim’s grown, and capable, no matter that letting him out of his sight scares him. So now and then Silver takes a solo birth with a crew, and when he comes home Jim is selling his services to the navy again. 

Silver only gets to find out when he comes by the post office and there’s a letter addressed to him – _Mister Morpheus Bones_ is one of the silliest aliases he’s ever heard of, but he’s never missed a single one of Jim’s letters when it’s sent to that box. He wonders what Jim’s gotten into this time – illegal solar-racing? Helping Doppler track down rogue black holes again? Bodyguarding debutants? 

This time he reads the letter and feels his blood boil. He bites his lip in rage until he tastes blood, fighting the urge to roar. 

_Morph,_

_Marduk wanted my help with some slavers. Apparently, we didn’t wipe out the biggest part of their networks and his wife Carina is scared they’ll come to port near their home. He’s hired a crew to help me infiltrate them, should be back in three months. Meet me at Montressor, where our old boat was docked._

_\-- Jim_

Apparently his fame and reputation only follows Jim as far as his facial hair stays on, because a quick shave and some fussing with his hair, and no one thinks to connect the dots between the new whore in the slavers house and the famous Jim Hawkins. 

Silver checks the date and rents a room on Montressor, then spends the next month haunting the Legacy’s old docking point, but Jim doesn’t show. 

Four weeks. Six weeks. Eight weeks come and go. 

No sign of Jim. 

Silver’s near out of his mind with worry, holding his cutlass to every throat he thinks might have an answer in it, pulling at every string he can think of to shake some news loose. Whoever’s leading this operation is close lipped, and Silver’s not been maintaining his connections lately, so nothing comes of it. At some point he pulls at his hair and rakes his fingers through it so much he feels something come loose in his head, and he’s so scared to leave their spot that he doesn’t bother looking for a doctor. 

There’s not a damn thing he can do but wait and hope. 

Ten weeks without news and he wakes to the sound of a door opening. Jim’s voice sighs and Silver hears the bag drop by the door, then the lad is clambering into bed with him before Silver can fully make sense of it all. His eyes roam over Jim and he feels something sick in his stomach. 

The younger man reeks of Lunellian Opium incense; the kind used to keep slaves docile or patrons confused enough to leave their pockets open. He’s got a black eye and bruising everywhere, and his clothes are transparent silk under a rough cloak. Jim looks exhausted, his body having shed any spare padding, and he’s snuggled close to Silver’s side with his eyes closed like he wants to sleep more than anything. Silver holds him, trying not to jostle the many, _many_ piercings and dangling chains that connect them, and though he doesn’t sleep he lays with Jim until dawn. 

He keeps his nose buried in his boy’s hair, breathing through the stink of other peoples’ sex and booze and smoke, and he presses his good eye to the pillow where it soaks up his tears. 

Eventually, he pulls himself away, going to the little table and unpacking a few foodstuffs. His arm flashes through settings on automatic until the smell of his old bonza beef stew has filled the room. He hears a shift in the blankets on the bed, and Jim hisses. Silver turns and sees him trying to untangle himself – a chain has caught on a bit of silk, which has become part of the knot of the sheets. Jim throws up his hands pulls a blade from nowhere, then starts undoing each piercing as he cuts through the silk. He’s sliding out of scraps and the tangled jewelry until they’re buried in the bedclothes, uncaring of their value.

Jim stretches, nearly naked and stiff, and smiles at Silver. He opens his mouth to say something, but the growl of his stomach is hideously loud, and Silver is by Jim’s side in a second, feeding him straight from the pot. Jim moans and lets himself be fed, eating every bite until there’s nothing left, and he sags against Silver’s chest when the other man sets the pot and spoon aside. Silver lets his hands run up and down his boy’s back, maneuvers them carefully until he’s got Jim under him while he works his fingers into the tense muscles. 

He hasn’t said anything, and Jim seems too tired to think beyond this moment, loose and pliant as his body’s worked into a limp mass. He drowses, and the pirate moves him again, propping Jim on pillows with his feet in Silver’s hands. His face is soft and sleepy, and were it not for the bruises and the clothes and the fear still curdling in his stomach, this would be a sweet moment. Jim falls asleep again with a smile on his face, and Silver keeps massaging the lad’s legs and feet, trying not to look too closely, not to smell too deeply of the unwashed body of his lover. 

There were times when he let himself fantasize about things nearly identical to this. It was a silly dream – something he’d invented back on the Legacy when the chance of treasure beyond imagine was still before him. He imagined offering Jim a place as his lover, buying a palace somewhere and putting the slim, beautiful body on display in a room of gauzy curtains and soft pillow beds, a warm place where a breeze ruffled their hair. Somewhere safe where Silver ruled as a king on Flint’s own throne and Jim sailed over an ocean on a solar surfer made of platinum. He’d dress is boy in the thinnest, finest of silks and wrap him in Silver’s jewels, let him run wild and free wherever Jim wanted, and they’d be untouchable, with Jim’s beauty for all to see, but only _his_ to touch. 

He’d imagined it again when he realized Jim wanted him – let himself revel in the idea that he might find another treasure, another fortune that let him lavish his lover in the finest things. He’d imagined rubbing perfumed oil into Jim’s skin, sliding precious jewels into pierced places where he could tug and tantalize, feeding him delicacies from his own kitchen until he was soft and tender, and making love slow and dirty on the softest of beds through a shared bowl Lunellian Pipeweed that was supposed to make sex a thousand times more incredible. 

Here and now, the fantasy still stirred his cock, but it also made him feel sick. This was a perversion of the fantasy, and he didn’t let himself think about the bits and pieces of body jewelry he’d been stashing away til now. Much as his fingers itched to put his very best things on Jim, he couldn’t shake the image of other hands doing it – rough and mean and seeing Jim only as a bit of meat to sell or slaver over. 

When Jim woke, Silver found his tongue had failed him for the first time. He wanted to rage, to demand names, to scream and weep and shake Jim silly. Instead, he stroked his lover’s arm. 

“Feelin’ better there Jimbo?” He finally asked. Jim yawned and smiled at him, no hint of guilt or shame. 

“So much better.” He pulled Silver into a kiss, hungry and happy and soft. They kissed a long time before Jim would let him go. “I’m sorry I was so late. It took ages to get close to the leaders, and even longer to get them to start slipping around me enough to act. But...Silver?” He looks worried, reached up and touched his face. “What...”

Silver’s crying. 

He swiped at his face, tried to turn away but Jim wouldn’t let him, and if there’s no hiding it then he might as well let it go. He hid his face in Jim’s hair, not letting himself hear the sounds that kept pulling themselves past his gritted teeth, ears shut to whatever Jim was trying to tell him. Nothing they say was going to stop these tears, and it was only when he smelled something burning that he let Jim push away. 

“Silver!” 

The tear duct of his cybernetic eye doesn’t see much use, and he’d never worried much about the mix of saline and machine, but that loose wire seems to have become much more important with the sudden introduction of heartache. His eye’s shorted out and he’d clutched his head as pain lanced through his skull. 

“Damn blazes o’hell,” he snarled and staggered away from the bed. He’s half blinded like this and he can’t think straight, but then Jim’s got his flesh hand and he let the lad sit him down. The smell of something breaking and sparking in his skull was terrible, but then a quick jab of a needle and he could relax and pay attention. 

Jim’s gotten his emergency stash set out, a now empty shot of pain killers lying next to the numbing agents and the muscle relaxers. The lad already had a few of the more delicate tools in hand, unscrewing pieces and clipping the wires. His entire vision filled with Jim, and he had to fight not to start crying again. It made his head ache, but then there were tools moving things inside of his eye, and he had other things to focus on. 

Jim clicked something into place and then the pain eased.

“Ah...thank ye, Jim. Much better.” He cracked open his mechanical eye and smiled as it calibrated, the aperture snapping and shifting in his skull. 

Jim looked horrified. “Are you alright?” 

“Oh...aye, lad. Just...little bit of dust and smutz’ll make this ol’ rig act up now an’then.”

“No! I mean...God, Silver you were...you looked...”

“Ah...” he tried to find the words to sooth his lover, but for once, there was nothing. He sighed, slumping against the wall and looking anywhere but Jim.

“Ye scared meh,” he whispers. “Ye scared meh good Jimbo. An’ ey ain't the man ta say what ye should be doin witc’er time but...” He’s going to cry again, he can feel it. He fists his hands in the silken pants still hanging on Jim’s hips and lets himself say it at long last. “Gods ‘n furries be damned Jimbo, ye were alone in a lake ah hell fish an not a word in the world what was happnin te yah could reach meh. Not’in aye could do but ring me hands and prey.” He let his fingers trail the silk until they came to skin, then rested them on Jim’s stomach, his eyes still looking away. “All ey could tink was how ye might be torn asunder by monsters o’the worst stor, and twas nothin to be done. Yeh migh’ be settled in the dirt afore ayed heard an’ then...then” 

A sob escaped at last, and the tears flowed, sparks flying. 

“...aye can’ imagine livin any furter than a moment from now ifin ey lost ye.” 

*

Jim didn’t say he’ll never do it again, didn’t tell him what happened. But then Silver started waking in the night with a shout, doused in the cold sweat of nightmares and grabbing for Jim. A fistful of weeks being woken by the sobs of a man who sparked terror in most men’s hearts, and anyone with a heart might feel their resolve chip away under the weight of such love. 

So Jim let his pride crumble, and promised with a whisper in Silver’s hair. 

“Never again.”


	7. The past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewatched Brave so I could get a feel for what I was trying to dip into here but while I know Irish and Scottish both come from older versions of Gaelic, I'm not sure what nationality the Treasure Planet people wanted him to be, nor am I sure which accent I've given him, and since Robert Lewis Stevenson based the original Long John Silver on an English poet, I'm swimming in a vaguely English Empire stew. As a result, Merida is speaking Scots Gaelic as provided by Google, Silver is speaking in Irish Gaelic, and I'm labeling their languages by Northern/Southern Ursine, so real Irish/Scottish people, please don't eat me, I'm aware it's a mess.   
> Also, hey look -- feels, mentions of indentured servitude/slavery, and backstory hints.

As it turns out, one loose wire in your optical prosthesis is more of an issue than Silver expected. He tries to ignore the sparks of pain that shoot into his head without warning, the constant stink of something burning, the way his eye only reacts at half the speed, if it reacts at all. It’s cutting into his sleep, leaving him short tempered and mean, and no matter how much Jim digs around in there, they can’t find the cause. 

The problem spreads down his neck, because of course it does. The whole mess is twisting and pulling at his spine, leaving the grizzled old pirate weak as a kitten and bed bound. Jim keeps pushing to call a doctor, but he refuses, says he trusts Jim to figure it out--he’s smart enough. It’s a stupid thing to say and he feels guilty for putting this on Jim’s shoulders, but the idea of a doctor terrifies him. For one thing, all his parts have serial numbers registered to his old life, and if he's recognized, he’ll be hanging from a noose while Jim rots in a cell. 

One night Jim’s sitting next to him, pulling a few tubes and trying to get at the deeper connectors without shocking himself, but there’s a twitch and the tool cuts one live wire. 

Silver’s arm goes mad, flinging Jim across the room and flailing as it spasms between settings. He’s got no control, and even if he  _ could  _ keep his limb still, there’s a damn fire raging through his every nerve. He’s got just enough wherewithal to bite his lip through the urge to scream, but when the pain finally ends he’s destroyed the bed and Jim is scrambling to pack their things. The lad weighs their gear, thinks about it, then throws open the window and tosses both bags into the alley, below. He manages to get Silver standing and pulls his coat over the arm, shouldering as much weight as he can and they’re hauling ass down the stairs and out the back. Silver loses track of things for a bit. He’s vaguely aware of Jim taking him a few blocks away, settling him in the shadowed corner of two buildings and whispering to wait there, then vanishing into the night. He comes back with their things and a ratty blanket conjured from nowhere, wraps them both in it and forces Silver to take the rest of his emergency stash. Silver blacks out to the sound of Jim weeping and hushing him, the pain passing into dreamless sleep at last.

*

When he wakes up, he doesn’t open his eye right away, taking a moment to sniff the air and feign sleep a little longer. The harsh burn of sterilizing chemicals, a whiff of bland food, some clean sheets and the stink of sweaty skin all hit him first, but then he catches Jim’s scent and relaxes, opening his eye and ignoring how the mechanical one won’t move.

They’re in a room with big windows and few noises, somewhere clean and private and impersonal. Jim’s sitting at a table with some tools, staring out the window with a weary, worried look on his face. His hand is bandaged, the knuckles shiny with some kind of ointment, and it smells a bit like something you’d put on a burn. 

Jim speaks before Silver can sit up--he knows the sound of the cyborg’s breathing and must have known as soon as he woke. 

“We’re safe here.”

Silver doesn’t ask, even though he wants to, just adjusts to prop himself up in bed. He’s a little startled to realize his arm doesn’t hurt, though that might be because someone’s stripped it down to near nothing. He lifts the covers and finds that yes, his leg is fully gone. 

“How long--”

“Three days.” Jim’s voice is flat and blank, no anger, no soft assurances, no fear. Just empty. 

It scares Silver like nothing else. 

“Who ah...who’s taken meh--”

“Old friends of mine. Doc Sweets numbed your receptors and Audrey stripped it down.” He looks at Silver, jerks his chin to the little mirror on the bedside table. “She took off most of your optical rig too. It was starting to do damage to some of majorly important tissues every time it tried to connect, so she had to take most of it out.”

Silver swallows and reaches for the glass, then tries not to wince at the sight. He’s got a crater where the hardware should be, some bandages oozing where he knows he should have exposed muscle and such. There’s some burn ointment and scorch marks traveling down his neck, and he remembers Jim’s hand then. 

“What hap--ah...yer hand. Ye...ye all right?” He doesn’t remember the last time he was this tongue tied around his boy, but the air feels tense between them in a way he’s never known. 

Jim just shrugs. “It’s healing, if that’s what you mean. Got caught in a discharge when your arm started going off back at the inn. The crazy old bag fixed me up though.”

He’s about to ask but then someone’s barging into the room. He recognizes her species immediately - a Whisperain. Bent over so she’s near two feet shorter than Jim, her pack of blue flamed sprites start flickering around the room, hovering over anywhere that hurts. She’s got a huge hooked nose like a bird and doesn’t even bother looking at Silver, just yammers at Jim with her huge puff of silver hair bouncing away. 

“Looking rather peckish deary! Let’s have a look at those bandages!” She snaps her fingers and the blue flames come together into the shape of a black bird that settles on Silver’s bed and squawks. She starts undoing the wrap on the lad’s hand and hums a bit, blue light flickering over a burn that looks half healed. She hems and haws over it for a moment, then nods. “Very nice. Keep minding it and the nerve damage should undo itself in a day or two. Now go get some soup -- Merida will want to chat.”

Jim smiles at her and leaves the room without looking at Silver, and the bird follows after him, the door snapping shut with another snap. 

The old Whisperian hustles over and squints at him, her skin near translucent in the sunlight. He sees a few ghostly blue flames peeking out from under her robe, and he wonders how old she must be to have such casual control over her surroundings. 

Whisperians have a reputation of being rather mad -- they flash their blue magics around and insist that it’s not to be explained, even though Jim’s said his old pal Milo thinks their powers might hail from the same place as Atlantis. Silver’s never given it much thought, but their homeworld is a moon that circles Urisana Major, so the two species are in close contact. There’s an old myth about one casting a spell on a cake cast down from their moon that caused the first Urisds to walk upright and speak. 

This one looks at him sideways like a bird, tilting her head and twitching, then clambering over him to prod and poke at his head. He vaguely remembers similar behavior from another healer in his childhood, and it doesn’t bother him much. Better to take her care while he can. 

Still, he has questions. “Jimbo’s got nerve damage?”

She makes a clucking noise at him. “Aye, but it’s better than it was. He got lucky.” She starts probing at his shoulder, her sharp fingers causing a hiss to slip by him as she probes the socket of his rig. “You’re a bit less fortunate though. Hmmm.” 

He sighs. “What’s yer diagnosis luv?”

She shakes her head. “You waited too long. Lots of bits and bobs inside you that this old thing’s been burning through, and there are a few areas that are beyond my abilities. I can mend what damage has been done, but those old parts will undo my work, and I doubt they’ll connect up to work enough to be worth it. You’re going to need a whole new rig.”

Silver’s stomach drops, and ice twists in his heart. He swallows hard. “Ey, aye can’...that’ll...the cost...” he doesn’t know how to say he’s broke, because he doesn't know how they're paying for this as it is. The long stay waiting for Jim had drained his purse, and he’s got less than a single drabloon to his name. Without his rig, he can’t work and...and then what? 

Well, he  _ knows  _ what, actually. He feels numb, suddenly. “Aye suppose yeh migh’ know a...a fella who’ll trade labor then?” He hopes like hell she can offer him the name of someone reasonable, but at his age he’s got little hope. Anyone who’ll pay for his sorry carcass to upgrade will be banking on his name--the notoriety of having Long John Silver on a leash--and if it cost him ten years last time, he can only imagine how much they'll take now. 

Twenty years? Thirty? He’ll be dead long before his debt is cleared. And even if he lives long enough to see it done, he can only imagine what sins he’ll have racked up under a master’s command. Would he even  _ want _ to see the end of it? 

The Whisperian shrugs and starts sending her blue magics up his side, a warmth and an itch settling under his skin as she heals him. 

“Can’t say I know anyone in the area like that -- I’m only in town to sell my wares for the next fortnight. Your fella managed to catch me while I was kicking my feet up in the tavern. Just ran into the room asking for a second healer and waving some gold jewelry around. He was lucky not to get robbed.”

Lucky indeed. 

How lucky  _ was _ Jim, Silver wondered? The lad had been thrown into Silver’s gravity and now he was locked in orbit with him, like a wondrous comet turned moon to a barren planet. He’d avoided the crash but now he was saddled with a cyborg pirate rotting from old age and a rough life. 

Some luck...

The woman finishes with him eventually, clacking her scattered tombstone teeth as she natters about taking it easy. He registers it, thanks her (because he’s a man of manners, when he feels like it) but when she leaves the room, he can’t muster the energy to do anything but slide down into his bed. 

He doesn’t know how long he lies there, but he eventually falls asleep, and wakes again when the light is low. He’s had his bandages changed, and the pain is milder than he'd expect. There’s a crutch sitting on the wall near him, well padded and sturdy for a man of his weight and height. There’s no sign of Jim, but the door is cracked open a bit, and this feels like an invitation of sorts. He drags himself from bed and gingerly leans onto the wood. He manages to hobble his way out of the room, grateful that what’s left of his arm is able to paw and grasp a little, if weakly. 

His room leads to a hallway, then a small kitchen where he finds Jim. 

The lad is laughing with a red-headed girl about his own age, tossing apple slices back and forth at each other. She looks wild enough to be a Whisperian, her crazy mop of fiery hair, blazing blue eyes, and heavy crossbow slung over a shoulder, but he’s never met one who carried weapons. 

Jim looks like he’s having the time of his life -- he’s teasing her about something involving berries, trying to dodge the apple she’s slicing and tossing at him while he goes for a bowl of stew. The smell is medicinal instead of savory, but it’s not bad, and at some point the girl whips out a long roasting fork and charges at Jim. The lad laughs and uses the ladle to defend himself as she curses him. 

“Bidh thu a ’grodadh lethwit!” Silver finds himself startling. He hasn’t heard that language since his childhood, but it’s impossible to miss. The girl cusses like Ursine royalty. 

Jim’s still laughing. “For a master marksman, your aim sucks!”

The next apple she flings is whole, and it nails Jim right between the eyes. He goes down with a clang, a yelp, and a splash as the food goes everywhere. 

Silver can’t help the laugh that slips past him, but the pair of eyes that fix on him cut his mirth short. Jim’s face is blank again, and Silver doesn’t know what to do with it, and the girl is a stranger. Still, best to make a good first impression. 

“Pléisiúr bualadh leat, Do mhórgacht.”

_ Pleasure to meet you, your majesty.  _ He does his best to bow with his crutch, glad he only wobbles a bit and can catch himself on the wall. His Southern Ursine is a bit rusty, but serviceable. 

The girl doesn’t look too surprised, just rolls her eyes and goes for another apple. “ _ My mother says I'm not royalty if I keep acting like a crazed child, so you can drop the formalities. Nice to meet another kinsman though. _ ”

Her northern dialect takes a moment to untangle, but he nods once he gets it. “A pleasure m’lady. Me humble company be at yer’ service.” He doesn’t know what name Jim’s put them under, but he hopes the lad will give him a hint soon. 

She raises a brow. “ _ Fugitives don’t need to be so flattering, Long John.”  _ She comes over and shows him the typical Ursine ears hidden under her hair, then offers a hand. “ _ Princess Merida of Dunbroch. Well, formerly of Dunbroch, I suppose.” _

He’s gobsmacked as he shakes her hand and just looks over to Jim with bafflement. “ _ Princess _ Merida,  _ Empress  _ Kida,  _ Princess  _ Ariel. How many royals ye collectin’ Jimbo?!” He's trying to ignore the part where a stranger knows his real name.

Merida laughs. “  _ Oh it’s worse than you know! We sailed together on the  _ Falcon  _ voyage, but Sipho kept me out of the pages so my mother wouldn’t send along trouble.”  _ She leads him to a small table and he settles down in a bit of a daze. “ _ Keep in mind, only a few of our shenanigans were public. Jim’s got clout with another half dozen folks in power.”  _ She waggles her eyebrows. _"We're lucky Kuzco didn't try and make him his concubine."_

Jim’s cleaning himself up and wiping away the mess, but if he has trouble understanding the princess, he doesn’t say so, just brings two bowls of the soup to the table and pushes one to Silver. He digs in like he’s starved, ignoring Merida as she starts teasing the lad about something with an Incanian Llama and a peasant that turned out to be an Emperor, and a strange creature named Gurgi who stole half Merida’s personal supply of apples. 

Jim seems content to pretend that both of them don’t exist, and since he’s not sure what the lad’s thinking, Silver lets himself enjoy the stories and the meal. Eventually the light is gone, the food is finished, and the princess heads for bed. 

Now it’s just Jim and Silver staring at each other across a table, and Silver’s unsure of his footing for the first time in years. 

“Didn’ know ye spoke Ursiana-Galic,” he starts, fishing for something safe to talk about. Apparently, language is the wrong thing, because Jim just looks miserable. 

“Of course you didn’t know. Why would you? We don’t talk about stuff like that.”

“‘Stuff like that?’ What’re ye meanin’ Jimbo?”

“The past! You never ask about what the trip was like--you just assume you know it because you’ve read Sipho’s stuff. Just like I don’t ask about your past--I just  _ assume _ you don’t want to talk about it. I  _ assume _ you think it doesn’t matter, but  _ of course _ it matters! And then there are these huge pieces of each other that blind-side us when things go wrong!”

Jim’s working himself up like he’s going to hyperventilate or start shouting, and Silver’s not sure what to say. “Jimbo, ey canno--”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Flint’s slave?”


	8. Moira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeeee feels that I'm told are good (Thank you Bee!) but I've got mixed feelings about. This is something I think needs to happen in any relationship (I am personally of the opinion that if you don't know someone's past, you're really only in love with a snapshot of them) but some of it feels weird, so I don't know.   
> Next up is an action scene, and Leland will be making an ass of himself soon.

Jim isn’t sure why he’s yelling. He thinks he should be calm, maybe sympathetic or kind or something. But instead he’s yelling. He’s not even sure he’s mad -- just, unmoored? Like he’s filled with helium and feeling delirious as it lifts him up, leaves him unsettled and distracted. 

But Silver just looks confused. 

“Aye...wha? Jim, Ey was n’ever a slave. Just an indentured.”

Something sick turns in Jim’s stomach. “That’s still slavery!”

Silver shakes his head and sighs. “Trust me, luv. T’ain't the same.” He won’t look at Jim now. “Flint owned m’contract, sure. But the souls they hauled in from the Deep Space systems were  _ real _ slaves. The poor buggers weren’ treated much better ‘en some men treat their dogs--worse really. M’time with Flint weren’t nothin’ really.”

“A slave is a slave. Just because you treat one better doesn’t change the part where you own them.”

Silver just shakes his head and Jim is aching. He knows Silver won’t agree with him, but what’s wrong is wrong and it kills him to see this man brushing it off like it means nothing. Like it isn’t the linchpin to his whole life since. 

“Were this what ye been off about all day?” Silver’s giving him a smile like he thinks it’s sweet that Jim worried. Like he didn’t expect it.

“More or less.” 

Silver chuckles. “Glad it weren’t ‘bout anythin’ worse.”

Jim sighs and gets up, digging through the corner of the kitchen where he knows he saw a bottle of spirits. Merida thought she was being sneaky stashing it behind the dry goods, but the girl’s about as subtle as a brick unless she’s hunting something. 

He pours them both a drink, but he doesn’t bring it to the table right away, just stares at the counter like it’s going to start talking. 

“You said that the treasure was owed to you.”

He doesn’t have to look to feel Silver’s body tense. He knows this man too well. 

“Did ay? Don’ quite remember all a what was said. Bit busy tryin’ not ta get skewered by th’ crew at the time.”

“Silver. You told me it was  _ owed  _ to you. You spent your life chasing it down and killed for it. You wanted that treasure more than anything.”

“Well,  _ almost _ anything.” The man’s trying to pass it off like a joke. “Let’s be fair now Jimbo.”

Jim tenses, grits his teeth and squeezes the counter like he’s going to try and rip it from the walls. But anger only ever seems to make a mess in his life, so instead he lets out a breath, trying and failing to feel calm. He just feels sad. 

“When you kept getting worse, I couldn't for the life of me figure out why you didn’t want me to get help. At first you just acted like it was nothing, but you skipped food and promised it was an easy fix and I couldn't think of what I was supposed to do. I couldn't fix you. And if I couldn't bring a doctor, then there was really nothing I could do but watch you hurt. I thought it was pride. Then, maybe you were worried about the cost? But you knew I had money. You knew how much I made with the Navy and how much the Falcon’s expedition got me. You  _ had _ to know that. Just like I knew you were broke.”

He turns and brings the drinks to the table. “I sold my mom’s inn. I get paid by Marduk for my help. You  _ knew _ I could afford to take care of you.”

Silver bristles. “Now, Jimbo, that’s money  _ you _ earned, not meh. Ey don’ take from that pot! Ye need it fer--”

Jim doesn’t listen, just cuts him off and pushes through. 

“--But then it had to be paranoia, I figured. You were worried about being caught or something. So I had to ask myself, does he think I can’t keep him safe? That I don’t know how to pay someone to keep their mouth shut? I’m not a kid, I know criminals-- half my friends these days are wanted by the law. He’s read the stories, he  _ knows _ I’m connected enough. We’d be fine. He  _ has _ to know that. So why won’t he let me get help? Why am I just sitting here watching him get worse and hurt like this? I kept asking myself that over and over again. But I couldn't figure it out.”

“Then Sweets told me. He said he ran the numbers off your rig looking for parts. Got their history, all the names that go with them, traced it all the way back to the first notes from when you got fitted.”

Silver’s dead quiet now. Just looks lost and a little blank. Like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to say. “And once he gave it to me, I knew. So much just  _ clicked _ into place. Because Sweets told me what a rig would cost. He knew the witch probably couldn't fix you, but even if she could, the rig was fried. So I figured it out.”

Jim downs his own drink in one go. Slides the other over to Silver and waits for the man to take it before he asks, “Did you really think I would ever let that happen to you again? That I’d let someone buy you?”

Silver doesn’t say anything, just throws back his glass and looks anywhere but Jim. His face is miserable, and Jim feels the urge to cry bubbling in him. 

“You don’t talk about who you were before we met. I don’t tell you everything that happened after the Legacy. I keep waiting for you to open up and ask, but you never do, and now I’m kicking myself for waiting. But you’re sitting there like you think I’m going to let you walk back into slavery, like I’d  _ ever _ let that happen. Like I wouldn’t move the fucking stars to find any other way. And that tells me… well it tells me we don’t know each other. Not really. We’ve been running around the stars together for two years and… what do I know about you, Silver? What do I know about your past? Do you know my friends? Do you know who I’ve trusted with my life, with  _ your _ life?”

For the first time in years, Jim lets himself cry. 

“Silv…  _ John _ . Listen to me… We know every inch of each other’s skin, but I don’t even know your mother’s name. And I don’t want to leave this but… but I can’t do this again. I can’t watch you get hurt by something I didn’t -- I  _ should have _ known about. I need...”

“Moira.”

Something loosens in Jim’s chest, and he’s watching Silver’s-- _ John’s _ face with something desperate in his stomach. 

“Meh Ma’am’s name was Moira.”

He reaches over and takes Jim’s hand in his flesh one, rubbing one finger over the smaller palm like he’s trying to read a map in the lines there. 

“‘Course yer right, Jim. Ye’r far too smart a match fer meh. But if...if ye still want t’stay. Ye want ta...ta see this...us...t’the end. Well...yer yer own man. An’ Aye can’ say oi luv ye if aye can’ respect tha. So...so fine. We’ll...we’ll figure it out. Somehow.”

Jim’s still crying a little, but he lets himself smile, hope blooming and washing over everything else until he finally feels like there’s something solid and good under his feet. 

John sighs and relaxes a bit, still holding Jim’s hand and rubbing the back of his neck with what’s left of his rig. 

“Ursa Majora’s got it’s share o’ seedy underbelly life, an’ me Pap --Fin, was his name-- didn’ shy from showin’ it t’us pups. Flint wasn’t famous yet...just someone ye knew was aroun’...”

They talk until the sunrise, and John never lets go of Jim’s hand. 


	9. Tourney

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot how much I hate trying to map out action scenes, but at least this format doesn't require I be super detailed about how the limbs are laid out (hand-to-hand combat/close up action writers and choreographers are amazing, I will always admire you, because HOOOOOW?!!!)  
> Leland is a moron and will be dealt with next (assuming I can figure out how I want to write that, I am banging my head on the table over this one), and then I might be wrapping this up with one big chapter of side stories and a final chapter.

When Jim finds a solution to the cost, Silver wants to tell him no, but of course, he’s not that stupid. Saying no to Jim because something is dangerous is like tossing a match on a barrel of Wimbian spirits. So he just sighs, kisses the lad and praises him for his big heart. Jim beams like the sun and that’s how they find themselves in the canyons of Montressor for illegal solar surf races.

Apparently Jim comes by his adrenaline addiction honestly, because he confesses that Sarah met his father when the man came to participate in an underground tournament. Montressor is an absolute maze of canyons, quarries, and mining setups, so much so that the planet looks more like swiss cheese when laid out on a map. Coupled with the heavy traffic of the spaceport and the impossibility of patrolling enough to keep the crazier surfers away, the planet is an absolute paradise for anyone trying to make an already dangerous sport into a death sentence. As such, nearly half the arrests on Montressor come from surfers breaking speed laws and trespassing into cave systems to practice, and most of the juvenile arrests are due to the local kids trying to imitate their idols, and unfortunately, most of the fatalities are tied to the sport as well.

Leland hadn’t been quite good enough to make a career out of it, but Jim had been running in the smaller races as fast as he could build his own board. He admits sheepishly that he’d thought of trying to make a living on the illegal courses before his adventure on the  _ Legacy _ .

Silver’s not surprised in the least.

Jim jumps into the qualifier’s feet first, keeping his head down and curbing his skill to get a place in the tourney without drawing too much attention. No one gives real names but there’s quite a bit of fame tied up in winning, so once people start whispering that Jim Hawkins has come back home to race, there’s no pretending he’s going to keep a low profile, and Silver has to stay away for a few days to avoid notice.

Jim gets the down payment put together for the new limbs, and Silver lets them take the last of the rig off. But hobbling around is painful and he’s worried, so he tries to keep to himself while his lover focuses on the task at hand.

The tourney is an absolute death trap, which is exactly how the organizers like it. Half the bets revolve around the number of fatalities, collisions, near misses and maimings there will be in each round, and Jim has to get through nine different races before the final run. Silver makes himself watch, but he’s torn between the nausea of fear tearing up his guts and the need for a stout drink after every hair-pin turn, so he’s left with nothing to do but rub at the stumps of his missing limbs and pray to any god that might listen and carry a soft spot for pirates.

The final round comes down at last, and Jim is near vibrating with excitement. He’s not just determined to get through this for Silver’s sake, he’s  _ genuinely _ enjoying himself, and the Ursid can tell he’s in his element. If he’s not on his board he’s analyzing the other races and commenting on his competition – Silver follows most of it, but Jim spots the smallest details about each person’s strengths and weaknesses. The lad can pull tricks he’s never even fathomed, and even if he only wins fifth place and the smallest purse, Silver has no doubts that there will be more races on their horizon.

Assuming he makes it, of course.

People line up at the edge of the canyon, huge screens hovering over the edge to give the crowds a look. The betting pool is ridiculous – even the smallest prize will keep them comfortable for a year with enough to spare, and Jim’s only got fifty other names to beat.

The course is supposed to be an enormous figure eight, combining all the other routes before into one long run. Each surfer has to keep his board going at double the speeds considered legal in a standard race, and anyone who slows down is disqualified (assuming they don’t get run over). There are devices fastened to both board and rider that keep them from bypassing the course and taking any short cuts, but that doesn’t mean that cheating is prohibited. Although there are no projectiles allowed, a good few boards are sporting blades, electrified bumpers, and a dozen other weaponized accessories. One girl has gotten her engine to spit something that looks suspiciously like lava, and a big jelly person has fumes bleeding off their sail that make the other surfers’ eyes water.

Jim has fixed his board with a couple little flick-blades that snap out and in without causing much drag, but he’s been more focused on the speed and response in his board than anything else. His strategy has been to put everything into cutting to the front and riding just high enough to stay in bounds but above most obstacles, and it’s worked well for him so far.

The racers line up, and Silver prays again.

3…2…1…bang!

The sound of fifty boards taking off at once rattles through the canyon, and as the course funnels them through a narrow pass the sounds sets off the first obstacle; a wall of dirt shakes loose in a mudslide that knocks out three, then five boards, and then the dirt is followed by rocks and Jim dodges them with ease.

The route makes a long curve over the putrid run-off of a mine, acids and gas causing bubbles that spatter some in corrosive liquid or knock them into the waste with a blast of poison fumes. Most of the racers try to lift themselves high as their boards will allow or hug the walls, but the crowding gives way to a chance for fighting, and most take a moment to run their opponents into the walls or use their weapons while in close quarters. Jim’s one of a few still low to the surface, a rag wrapped over his face and goggles pulled down as he rockets through. He slaloms around some budding bubbles but pumps the speed to avoid them well before they burst.

Sixteen go down, then another, because as fast as they’re clearing the runoff, there’s a sharp turn and one didn’t curve fast enough to avoid the canyon wall. Jim takes the turn like a pro, dipping under one board and jamming the mast of his sail into the wires on the underside. The wires spark and then Jim is racing past while the other racer slows to a disqualifying speed. The canyon wall approaches, but there’s a wild turn and Jim’s following the crowd into a cave, raw crystals and a veritable forest of cave formations lurking in the dark.

Three miss the turn and their detour causes the boards to lock up, two falling a decent distance to their deaths, while another six are blinded by the sudden change from light to dark in the cave. Their collisions with stalactites cause a few explosions and the sudden illumination in the dark makes for quite a lot of chaos. One racer tries to take the opportunity to swipe at Jim’s sail and cut it before it can charge up in the daylight on the other side, but Jim slams his heel and the sail snaps into the board before it can be damaged, and he dodges a second pass meant more for Jim’s body than the board. The attacker seems preoccupied because a second later they miss a curve and slam into the wall sideways, not hard enough to stop but giving Jim enough room to get away.

The cave system ends over a cliff, and the eighteen still remaining have to plummet to follow the course. Jim’s still got his sail tucked in, but though the lack of drag means he’s going faster than most, the speed is going to make it near impossible for him to open it and curb his momentum before he slams into the ground.

Of course, Jim defies impossible all the time, because just as Silver can feel his lungs crying as he holds his breath, the lad slams his board’s nose into the tail of another in front of him, twisting himself away from the flip of the other and throwing out his sail just in time. He’s got something in his teeth and he fidgets it into place, and Silver realizes with amazement that the man had ripped a booster rocket from the other board in the fumble, and as he slams it onto the side of his own board Jim’s rocketing faster and faster and faster until he blasts past all but three other boards and over the finish line.

Silver near howls with pride, and if not for his missing limbs he’d be climbing down the sides of the canyon as fast as he could with the rest of the crowd, hooting and screaming all the way.


	10. Foools forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I owe IFuckingLoveBees a massive thanks on this one, because lemme tell you, this chapter WOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED without his help, and the template he gave me, and the feedback. Ugh. And yes, I'm aware I've been dropping in enough Disney characters that this should just be marked crosssover and be done with it, but I'm not up for that right now, so just enjoy the little tidbits.

The purse is held by the organizers at a crumbling bar up the hill, so Silver heads there first, because with two other surfers ahead of him, Jim’s doubtless going to spend the next hour or more chatting the other winners' ears off. Silver might as well start pressing folks to round up Jim’s earnings, even if they won’t turn them over til the lad comes up. 

He gets himself a drink and settles into a deep chair in the corner, ignored by the other patrons who are hovering around one of the screens to bicker over playback of the race and debate the finer points of each bet. 

The adrenaline has him jittery and alert, so that’s probably the only reason he zeros in on the man at the bar.

“Yessir! Taught Jim how fly when he was six and look’it him now -- third in five hundred of the best racers in the quadrant!”

At first Silver thinks he must be confused, because who on earth could be talking about Jim? The lad’s kept his head down--grew out his facial hair and kept the news he was back far from prying ears. Jim’s even kept hush about his visit from the Dopplers and Bart -- so who would know...?

Silver lets himself twist around a bit, glad the small crowd gathering is on the same side as his good eye. He spies the speaker easily, and it makes a snarl curl over his teeth. 

Leland Hawkins is a rough man with an ugly beard and a handsome face. He’s only just starting to phase past his prime, a hint of unflattering sag under his neck and wrinkles at his eyes. He’s broader than Jim, with lighter hair and big green eyes that make him handsome until a closer look reveals too-sharp smirk. 

The man is still bragging, and now he’s telling stories. “...should’a seen the kid. No bigger than m’knee with a board longer than he was tall, flyin’ around the in so fast he woulda been juiced by an impact! I told his mother to leave him be about it -- Sarah always wanted him to slow down and study, but lookit him now!” 

He seems to be speaking to the room, looking stupidly pleased with himself for having dismissed his late wife’s concerns, as though his choice to let a child rocket around unattended near twenty years ago were directly linked to Jim’s win. 

The man’s a moron. 

“Oh, yes, Jimmy’s  _ definitely  _ a Hawkins -- a man couldn't be prouder!” 

Silver can't hold back a bark of laughter, at that. The sheer fucking audacity of this bastard!

Heads flicker towards him, and it's only when his little crowd have stopped minding him in favor of Silver that Leland notices. His grin twists to a grimace.

"Something funny?" Leland asks, testily.

Silver doesn’t look over to acknowledge the man, but he doesn’t hide his incredulous grin either. He's got nothing to fear from a fight; even without his limbs, only a fool would bet on a man Leland’s size instead of a full grown Ursid.

“Oh aye. Ye spin a good yarn. Nice ta hear ol’ Jimbo’s got hisself a personal historian already. Though ey’m a bit surprised he’d share so soft a memory with a fella ey handn’t met before. Eh, what were yer name now, lad?” He asks, like he hasn’t heard the other man’s name spat from Jim’s lips with the venom of a viper. 

The man puffs his chest. "Well I’m no hanger-on. I’m Leland Hawkins." He grins, and Silver bites back a wolf's grin of his own. If the man thinks he's winning this game he's sorely mistaken.

Silver feigns confusion, looking away for a moment as if in thought.

"Leland, Leland, Leland...hm...name’s never come up. ‘Spose ye’d be the lads...eh, what? Grandfather? Distant cousin? Since he tells everyone he didn’t get to know his pap growing up ‘n all."

Leland visibly deflates at that. His smile looks a little more strained, and the men around him are giving him looks like they’re wondering how credible his stories are.

"And just who the hell are you then?" Leland snaps.

Silver finally lets the nasty grin take form on his face. He flashes teeth and lets a touch of growl color his voice. Even sitting down Leland leans away from him, clearly intimidated.

“Oh, me? Just a man who admires the finer things in life. And takes close care a his things. Ol’ Nathaniel Flint taught me that.”

Whatever interest the crowd had in Leland Hawkins is gone in a flash, and Silver’s got a full table of company and questions. 

“You can’t be serious!”

“ _ The  _ Captain Flint? _!” _

_ “ _ You’re full of hot air!”

“What was he like?”

Silver has no trouble talking of his earlier years -- no details, just his time on the docks as a lad, lurking about the Pirate King’s crew and sharing a few anecdotes. To those listening, it’s all quite plausible, and quite anonymous, and far grander than anything else they might have heard tonight. Leland can’t seem to catch anyone else’s eye or ear at the bar, and with every passing minute, the man is deflating and falling further and further behind Silver’s growing crowd. 

Jim’s father is gone from the bar and everyone’s memories long before Jim joins them, and Silver is pleased as pie. The lad bursts into the bar with two beautiful women beside him, and he zeros in on the old pirate with a grin that glows. 

“John! John! I got third place!”

“Aye, lad. Ye did a marvelous job o’ it.”

“Oh, John. These are my new friends!” He introduced the other winners and rattles off some statistics that Silver doesn’t even begin to follow. 

He stands and shakes the ladies hands. One girl is from the Kauai asteroids and the other is a princess from a water planet farther out. Silver wants to laugh because  _ of course _ Jim’s running neck and neck with people --  _ royalty! -- _ who’ve been sailing the Etherium for thousands of years and who raise their children to surf before they can walk. Jim is lavishing them in praise for some finer details of the race that Silver can’t remember, and they offer him a few compliments that make Jim grin like a fool. 

The winners are rounding up their purses and still chattering, and now no one in the bar can look away from them. The princess seems anxious to leave, and she throws down a few of her coins for the whole bar to enjoy a round. Jim hauls him away in the resulting scramble, and it’s only when they’re out of the roaring cheers that the three winners relax. 

“John, Nani’s got a place over the ridge where her husband’s waiting -- we can stay with them, and the Princess is going to share some of her navigation methods with us.”

Silver just smiles and lets himself be led away by the bantering of brilliant people, and if he tosses a snarl at the skulking shadow of Leland Hawkins when no one’s looking? Well, the fool is gone, and no one need ever know he was there. 

Some fools are best left forgotten. 


	11. Where I want to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timing on this part is a bit ambiguous, but I think it's split between being before Silver's arm needed to be fixed, and then after he got his new rig but as a flashback to wherever the characters are now, which is why the tenses change. Not sure if this is going to have an ending or not, so I'll mark it complete for now while I go bang my head on the wall of my Steven Universe story. I kinda know where they would end up, but I'm not sure if I have the mojo to write it all up, so I'm going to leave this be for now.   
> Thanks to anyone who's commented, liked, and bookmarked on it, and thanks as ever to IFuckingLoveBees, without whom this entire mad mess would not have happened. Hope everyone has a great year!

Silver hadn’t given much thought to his appearance before the rig was installed. 

As a younger man, he’d relished in showing off—standing taller than the other males, engaging in wrestling where the prettier of the whores might see, flashing a few teeth here and there, and flaunting his strength wherever he found the chance. In his prime, there’d been no one in a hundred parsecs who could miss the fine specimen of Ursid, and he was proud of it. 

After the...well,  _ after _ , the reality of the new limbs had been a heavy blow. The pain of running and leaping on his new leg meant he tried to avoid the harder work, and it showed in his stomach. His hair had been burnt and shaved away to allow for the eye’s installation, with a number of bone reconstructions that warped his face a bit, though the surgeon had tried to keep it as symmetrical as possible. He’d lost his ability to swagger, reduced to a sluggish limp for years, and the whores didn’t give freebies to men who had weapons drilled into their skin. He was clumsy, aching, and angry for going on five years before he’d found his footing. 

Still, while he might not be  _ handsome  _ any longer, he was still a  _ very  _ dangerous man. There was comfort to be had in how even the largest of spacers eyed him with a touch of fear, trying to guess how many different mods he might be hiding, or calculating the power behind his arm. He’d leaned into that fear  _ hard _ , and as he’d worked up a proper reputation among the other pirates, his image had followed. He might have to pay for his company most nights, but he could still arouse his bedmates—he was strong, he was well connected, and he was powerful. Power enticed. Strength enticed. He was comfortable in that now.

Well, he  _ had _ been.

Until now, he’d only seen a few of Jim’s friends, mostly the Lady Carina and Marduk from a distance when Jim met them for a bit of lunch and a palaver. He’s never let himself get closer than a seat across the street, but he’s never felt odd about staying away—Jim didn’t need him hovering and would usually tell Silver when he might want to eavesdrop for information. But today, it was not Maruk sitting next to Jim, and Silver…well, he wasn’t sure what he should do.

The man was taller than Mister Arrow had been, and he loomed over the human by more than two feet. His skin seemed to be made of some kind of clay, and when Jim jumped up to get a hug from the man, his clothes were dusty when the other let go. Jim laughs and pats at himself, letting the other spacer paw at him a bit to help before pulling his friend to a table at the café.

The other man is…handsome, maybe. Broad shouldered and smooth faced, he had an ageless quality that meant he could be close to Jim’s years or thrice that. The uniform isn’t navy—some other branch? But it has near as many medals and ribbons as Jim’s had had when he left, and that is no small thing. The material looks expensive—shifting colors and patterns in the sun like a Nebula Brocade, and the sabre at his hip is most definitely made with platinum filigree.

He looks quite…striking.

Silver lets himself settle a bit closer than he might usually, though still far enough away to blend in with the crowd. He reaches up and tunes his ear. Just a bit.

Jim sounds thrilled. “—So glad you came! I thought you were still stationed out in the Mardacula belts?”

“A temporary transfer.” Deep voice, smooth and calm. “I’ll be headed back in a few weeks, but the Queen has sent me along to set up the embassy and help her Highness settle into her duties.”

Jim lets out a slow whistle and leans back in his chair. “Handling the princesses now are you?” His grin is enormous. “Quite a step up from last time!”

The other man rolls his eyes. “Yes, well, I believe that is entirely  _ your _ fault.”

A soft snort and Jim waves him away. “Hey, I just put you in the way—you’re the one who decided to be all noble and heroic. Seems to have paid off too.” He reaches over and tugs at one of the baubles on the man’s uniform. Neither seem to take this invasion of personal space as odd behavior. “Fancy new duds, following the prettiest Protean princesses around the galaxy, and that’s what? One two three…” he points and pulls at each medal as he counts, and the man is watching him fondly. “Five different awards for valor? If you want to blame me for that I’ll take my dues with a smile.”

He leans back again, and Silver let out a breath.

“Well, then I suppose you’re due quite a bit.” A large hand reaches out and lands over Jim’s shoulder. “Thank you, James.”

_ Jim. Not ‘James.’ He prefers  _ **_Jim_ ** **.**

Jim doesn’t correct him. “Hey, you earned it!” His face softens and some of the playfulness shifts to gentle affection. “Really, Polux, this is nothing you didn’t make happen yourself. I’m just glad I got to be there to see it. ”

_ Gods but that sounds familiar. “I hope I'm there, catching some of the light coming off you that day.” _

“Still, I am happy to share the glory.” Polux seems oddly slow to take his hand back, but eventually he does, and another dusty handprint is left behind. Jim laughs and dusts it off.

“So! How much longer before you’re supposed to meet them? Your Castor?”

Polux deflates, his face turning sour. “Actually, according to the temple, I already have.”

Jim looks surprised, and a little worried. “Really? Wait, do you know when?”

Polox nods. “The same day you and I met, actually. My  _ amispha  _ rang out that dawn.”

Now Jim is blushing. “Wait, you don’t mean—”

Polux smiles a bit sadly. “I doubt it, but we’re not sure. I reviewed the records and I actually seem to have met about three dozen people that day. About seven of them were Proteans who had their own ring, but another twelve were off-worlders like you. So…there’s some confusion about who my Castor is meant to be.”

Jim frowns. “Well…that … that just  _ sucks _ .”

“Indeed.”

The conversation changes then, a few names of strange people being tossed back and forth too fast for Silver to follow, but eventually Polux asks the question.

“So James. Have you found your missing mate?”

Silver is expecting a bit of sputtering, some blushing and flailing. But Jim (as ever) decides to surprise him.

“I think so. I mean, I’m in love with someone, but there’s no… _ amispha _ -ing in our species. Or at least, not in mine. So I mean…I think so.”

Polux touches Jim’s shoulder again, tenderness on his face. “I am glad for you, my dearest friend.”

Silver turns off his ear. 

*

Jim and Pollux chat for close to two hours before they part ways, and Silver lets himself relax when their parting hug  _ finally  _ ends. 

Jim looks happy, making his way over to Silver’s seat, and they both leave the cafe to walk back to the ship. 

“Did you listen in?” Jim asks, and Silver lies. 

“Naw, not after yer palaver turned soft-like. Just read me paper and tried ta figure out how in the blazes the cook could call that swill a Saffronite Soup. Twernt no real meat in it!”

Jim frowns at him. “Why not? I told you you could listen. Pollux is a great guy--I thought you’d like to know more of my friends.”

Jim has never acted like he minds having a beu he couldn't bring home, and Silver loves how he tries to make this all seem normal. Like it was fine that he has to have his lover follow him at a distance and eavesdrop instead of meeting his mates proper and sharing a meal like the rest of the world. Like they aren’t both leary of letting anyone recognize him, lest a noose be dropped over Silver’s neck. 

“Didn’t feel it were m’place, once ye started talkin ‘bout that...eh, amphis-sommat? Sounded mighty serious and private-like.” 

“Amispha, you mean.” He shakes his head. “Poor Pollux. He’s gotten the short end of the shit stick with that. But still, you should’ve listened -- we shared a lot of stories from the trip that never made it into Sipho’s pages.” He grins, teeth shining a bit in the sun, and Silver wonders if he realizes what that means to an Ursid. “Pretty sure you’d have loved that. There was this one time with a pit of weird mud...” Jim yammers on a bit as they make their way to the docks, and they take their time, passing by a messenger service so the lad can post a few letters to a few other friends. 

Eventually Jim decides to explain Pollux’s dilemma. Apparently the Proteans are a species who believed in soulmates--something to do with a creature that made a ringing on the day you found your other half? 

“...and it just sucks because of course he’s fucked now--he doesn’t have any way to verify who some of the offworlders’ names are, let alone if he’s supposed to be in love with one of them, and then the other Proteans he  _ did _ meet are just as confused because  _ they _ all met their own crop. So now Pollux is stuck wondering with no real clue if the person he’s with is the right one or just close enough, and if it  _ is  _ an offworlder he can’t just charge up to a stranger and introduce himself. Like, ‘Hello, I am a highly decorated soldier of the royal family, and it is possible that we might be destined to fall in love, could you stay in this solar system and let me vet you against the other aliens I’ve met today?’” Silver lets himself chuckle -- Jim’s imitation of the Protean is damned accurate. 

“Sounds like quite a curse,” Silver muses. “Bein’ stuck wonderin’ like that.” 

Jim looks pensive. “I thought so too at first. But Pollux says it’s comforting too.”

“Oh aye?” 

“Yeah. Something about being able to say without a doubt that, from the best to the worst of them, every single one of their people has a soulmate. Even the most terrible, fucked up ones will have a perfect match. They never have to wonder if there’s someone who can love them, you know? And I mean, even if he never gets to know for sure who it is, he still knows there’s  _ someone _ . Hell, he even has a starting place to look. I mean...it sounds nice, kinda.”

Silver just shrugs, and tries not to think of what Pollux had said. 

_ The same day you and I met...we’re not sure. _

Pollux was tender with his friend. Jim may not have discussed it further, but he had made the connection, and Pollux was an impressive man. A romance of destiny between them suited Jim’s reputation, after all. Pollux was probably already half in love with him. 

Jim starts talking about Leland then--how it would have been nice if his mother had been able to be sure she should marry a man like that, but this doesn’t sooth Silver much. He waits until the other man is up in the sheets checking the ties, then makes his way below deck.

A deep, vicious growl bubbles up in his throat, and he punches the walls of the galley until his arms shake, letting himself relish in imagining Pollux’s face under his hands, and he wishes like hells he could feel the other man crack and crumble to dust under his rage. 

When Jim askes over his bandaged hand, he mutters something about the stove, and shoves honey cakes at him. 

* 

They only talked of Jim leaving once. 

They were sitting close, caught a silly moment together at the bow of the ship. It wasn’t private exactly, but the crew was busy trying to get in a few rounds of cards before the captain came by, so the noise acts as a kind of privacy. 

Silver didn’t try to beat around it, just waited until they'd hit a comfortable lull before he speaks. 

“Ye’know ayed never stop ye from finding better things Jimbo.” What those better things are, Silver left unspoken. He might have been leaving the door open for his lover, but he didn’t want to put ideas out there for him if they’re not there yet. 

Jim is a good man, and he loves deeply, so Silver’d expecting a fight. It’s another reason he’d brought them out here -- with the crew so close, he’d hoped (like a coward) that Jim remembered to curb his ire. 

But Jim has never been predictable, so instead of a fight, he laughed. 

“Better things, huh? Like what?” They weren’t touching, just sitting close as any pair of friends would, until Jim reached out and pulled the cybernetic arm into his lap. He went into his coat and found a roll of small tools, spread them over his knee, and started fussing with the rig. From a distance there’s nothing odd about it--two friends, one needs a hand with his hand, and Jim's always been the most obliging fellow on the ship. But the casual comfort, the deliberate intimacy of having spare tools for Silver’s limbs on hand like that? Well that was...that was just...

Silver looked away, over the bow and swallowed hard. 

Jim didn’t talk for a while, just turned his arm here and there and made mild adjustments, scraped out dirt and added a bit of oil to the spots that resisted. Silver found himself near blushing when he realized how much Jim must have been paying attention -- the lad knows exactly how to tighten the gears to loosen the tension in his deltoid, clicked a few pieces into place just by listening to them, and he found a rag from Silver’s pocket without even looking. He knows this arm better than its owner, and much as the old spacer wanted to melt into the other man’s hands, he kept his face blank and his eyes averted. 

Jim put his tools back into his coat and slid the rag back into the pocket without asking, as casual an invasion of space as any he’d shown with Pollux and Marduk.

Silver took his arm back, but he wished like hell he didn’t have to. 

They sat in silence for a while, and Silver almost thought Jim had dropped the whole thing. But then... 

“Don’t ever think I’m somewhere I don’t want to be. I’ve run across the galaxy and back, and I’ve never once let myself be held in place if it wasn’t exactly what I’d wanted.”

He jumped down from the rail, trailing his hand over the rig, and walked over to the crew, no mind paid to the lover behind him. 

Silver doesn’t often think of his childhood, but an image of his parents lingered in his mind, and for the first time in his life Silver wondered if this is what his Pa had felt being scolded by his M’am. 

The next time they made port, Jim came back to the boat wearing a few simple silver rings, and they never spoke of it again. 


	12. The Heady Thrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small smutty side story that has no bearing on the rest of the chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun thing -- I forgot to take my Prozac for about a month which meant that my libido came back (which is usually about as useful to me as an inflamed appendix), and for whatever reason I was inspired to write this in a semi-depressed, semi-lusty fog. Then I finally remembered to take my meds (ADHD is a bitch) and when it kicked in I reread my work and this whole chapter startled me like a deeply scandalized Victorian Era Nun. I think this is only the third or fourth piece of smut I've written in my entire life, and I am absolutely blaming IFuckingLoveBees for being my muse. But I put in the work, and I've been told it's not bad, so instead of scrapping it, I'm just going to burst into embarrassed flames and post it. I'm treating it like a random side story, and then I'm running away from my own writing to hide under my bed until the furious blushing stops.   
>  So...Stay on your meds kids!   
> \--Sincerely, a self-proclaimed Asexual Prude.

Jim’s not paying attention to the bartender's body language, and Silver’s having trouble finding it funny tonight.

Half the room is leering at him, but she’s closest and her flirtation bleeds from her in every gesture; the way one of her heads keeps flickering a tongue out to taste the air around him, the way the other keeps flicking a nail over the rim of his tankard, her tail sliding up to tease over the edge of his coat? She’s maybe a second from letting her other head stick its tongue down his throat. 

A Leonian male is staring at them, not even pretending to mind his own business, and the way his scales keep flashing from pink to red is a mating call that only a blind man might miss. He’s got his foot on the legs of Jim’s chair and the claws on his toes keep trailing over Jim’s shoes.

Silver’s been watching for an hour, keeping a tight grip on his temper and digging his fingers into the edge of his table. Jim’s a grown man, he can say no, he can back it up with a wicked flick of a knife and a snarl, and Silver doesn’t doubt for a moment that the lad is coming home with him. Jim’s getting  _ information _ , not company, and he’s only letting these two make fools of themselves so he can get what he wants.

But then the Leonian says something and his scales flash green and Jim seems to be pissed, because he leaves his drink and his company at the bar with a face full of irritation. He stomps over to Silver’s seat and lets himself hop onto the table, stealing his lovers’ drink and sighing.

“Useless, the lot of them.” He chugs the ale until the tankard’s empty, then flops into Silver’s lap. The two by the bar look ready to eviscerate someone, and Silver lets himself relish in it with a flash of fang and a nasty grin. “If either of them actually know anything they’re sure as hell not gonna tell me, unless it’s over pillow talk.” He rolls his eyes and relaxes as the metal hand cards through his hair. Jim had tossed aside his undercut style years ago, but the moment the navy was behind him he’d let the length grow into a tail that drapes oh so nicely over his shoulder. Most of the time it was pulled away into something practical, but tonight he’d let it slide over his shoulders, knowing damn well how tempting it was.

Silver grins and tugs a little at that hair as he whispers. “Well, if’in they can’ help ye get what ye want, then ey say we shouldn’ let ‘em have any longer ta enjoy yer company.”

Jim gives him a wicked smirk, and they leave with the Ursid crowding him, arm slung over Jim with their fingers linked.

The bartender hisses behind them, and Silver wants to roar with pride.

*

He’s standing behind Jim, warm bodies breathing the same air, and it feels like it could be a slow night. Then his arm is wrapping around the smaller man’s body, pulling him into the chest behind him, and the cold metal sends sparks everywhere it meets skin. Lips trail along his shoulder, his neck, his ear. Silver moves Jim's loose hair aside and he lets him bend them over the table, looming large as he nibbles the skin at the nape of his neck. He whines and grips the edge of the wood, and now—oh fuck—there’s tongue there. 

Delicate touches, a little trail of breath and wetness that follows the line of a human spine, and he’s shaking as Silver trails his nails under clothes and over ribs. Everything tingles and feels hot, cold,  _ too _ hot, fuck! 

The cyborg is on his knees, and Jim doesn’t remember either of them removing his loose shirt but it’s gone and now he’s sucking and mouthing at the spot right above Jim’s ass like it’s going to kiss him back. Silver sinks his teeth into the skin and then Jim’s crying out, barely standing as he falls apart under a big mouth. He barely notices when the flesh hand slides down to rake its claws over his stomach, too zeroed in on what Silver’s mouth is doing to his back, but the other hand is in his pants now and he keens as dangerous hands grab his cock. 

One sharp “Haaaha!” is loud in the room.It seems to set Silver off because in a flash he’s got Jim flipped around and sitting on the table now, legs wrapped around his waist as he shucks off Jim’s pants. He pushes Jim back to lie over the table as the rig roams his chest. 

He bites his lip with each stroke, trying to keep the noises just a little bit modest, but apparently Silver doesn’t want that, because he presses a kiss to the tip of his cock and growls, the vibrations rocketing through him and Jim gives up on being quiet. He’d have to be gagged to keep from calling out after that. 

Silver’s licking and sucking, his flesh hand digging nails into Jim’s thighs while the other tweaks a nipple, and he’s twisting his tongue with more skill than should be possible. Their door isn’t locked and the walls are thin, and it thrills him to know that anyone can hear them. Most of the crew knows they’re a pair, but they’ve never been flashy about it. 

Still, the little show at the bar, the familiarity Silver’s showing his body, the way the Ursid had watched him flirt all night, only to whisper dirtily into his ear, it all comes together. No matter who he’s let touch him before, Silver  _ owns _ him, and he loves it. He runs his fingers through the pirate’s short bristly hair and brings the hand to his face, breathes in the smell of the man’s sweat and soap, memorizing the scent and feeling something sweet wrench at his heart. 

Silver lets his metallic arm reach up and flick through a few settings before he’s got his cutlass out, and if it were anyone else Jim would be terrified. But he’s not. He’s never been scared of Silver—not since he watched a ship full of treasure drift into a beam of fire as the man pulled him from death.

The edge of the blade trails over skin, the tip teasing at his navel piercing, then the bars in his pec and he’s panting now. Silver takes his mouth away, slides up the line of Jim’s body ‘til he’s blocking out everything else, the blade still teasing between them.

“Ye had ‘em wrapped up, pup. Tied ‘round yer finger with a lill’ bow, an’ ye never even flinched, did ye? That bar keep was wantin’ te take ye home and make an utter mess a’ye. The Leonian woulda had ye trussed up an wrecked all night afore he let ye off, and limpin’ a week at tha.” 

The blade tip is tracing his nipple now, and the aperture of Silver’s eye is loud as it widens to capture this moment. “But ye didn’ even blink, did ye? Tried yer tricks an’ pulled yer strings, and then trotted right back t’yer keeper, like a good lill pet.” His other hand is restless along Jim’s neck, tracing and wrapping around it and teasing at it, and Silver lets some of his weight down, pinning Jim’s cock under his gut and pushing a bit of air from his lungs. 

If he could move, Jim would be squirming, but he just reaches for the edge of the table above his head and white knuckles them as he focuses on breathing and not coming on the spot.

“Ye probably saved their skins, comin’ back ta me like tha.” The blade slides up the skin, presses against Jim’s cheek, and if he could think clearly he might have licked it to be coy. “Saved me a lot’a bother, since ayed a had t’track’em down and kill ‘em.” 

Silver’s never let himself be casual with his rig—there’s too much power, too much chance of damage—so when he stabs the wall, sinks the blade a good five inches into the solid wood, it’s absolutely intentional, and completely for Jim’s benefit. It also works perfectly, makes him whine like a fool, and Silver’s hard a as steel against his belly. 

He can’t wiggle against it like he wants, and that’s because Silver has him exactly where  _ he _ wants, head dangerously close to the blade. “Course, ye knew that Jimbo. Ye knew ye had ta come back t’meh.” He leans up and takes a piercing into his mouth, vulnerable flesh and warm metal against a devilish tongue and terribly sharp teeth. Silver’s playing with it, and whatever noises coming out of Jim sound nearly pained. 

The cutlass wrenches out of the wall and shifts back into a hand, and then it’s wrapped up his wrists and pulled them back so Jim has to arch under the stretch. It pushes his chest into Silver’s mouth like it’s his idea and it’s so fucking amazing that Silver can control his body like this. He knows Jim inside and out and he’s got the smaller man doing anything he wants with just a few words and a couple moves.

Silver bites down on the nipple and Jim’s coming with a sob, vision white as the teeth release and then there’s just suction, pulling him back to reality with a wave of over sensitized pleasure. 

But Silver’s not done. He doesn’t even acknowledge the spend between them before he’s easing up, the pressure of his weight keeping Jim’s breathing just a little harder than normal. He licks a long stretch of skin from Jim’s pec to his throat to his ear, where he bites a little, tugging at his earring with delicate teeth.

“Ye knew ye’d have t’come back te yer keeper lad. ‘Cuz no one touches ye, no one gets ta see ye come undone but me. Yer  _ mine _ ,” he snarls, and it’s so fucking hot to hear that said out loud, where all the crew can listen in. “Yer  _ mine,  _ and anyone who’d touch ye’s gonna know it afore they die.”

And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? Because Jim might play the bitch in bed most times, but no matter how much Silver struts around with how he owns Jim’s skin, it doesn’t mean shit. 

Jim’s young and beautiful and famous, but he’s got Long John Silver’s heart, his damned  _ soul _ , tied up in a leash and only Jim’s hand is holding it. One of the most cutthroat, vicious, murdering pirates in the Etherium and Jim’s got his trust. He’s Silver’s compass—Jim tells him they need to start killing the crew and Silver’s just going to sharpen his blade and load up his pistol, no questions asked. He thinks Jim is going to lead them into a black hole? He  _ believes _ in Jim, so they won’t fight over it, even as they’re sailing to their death.

Jim has all the power, and they both know it, and he could have a thousand maps under his hands, but it still wouldn’t be near as heady as that thrill.


End file.
